Lucy Zeezou's Goal

by Liz Deep-Jones

  Oh and by the way, of course you could model. Don’t let glasses and braces stop you. You can hang out on set with me if we shoot the commercial in Sydney and then you’ll see it’s not as glamorous as you think.

  Let’s trade places.

  Ciao

  Lucy

  I was interrupted by a knock at my door. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Mama. Lucia, can you please open the door? I’ve brought you some snacks and a hot chocolate,’ she said softly.

  She knew how to get to me. We may have had our differences but Mama and I had one major thing in common … we loved our food.

  I welcomed her in.

  We gave each other a tentative smile, then hugged.

  ‘Lucy, I wish I could understand what’s going on in your head. We only want the best for you and we’ve been through this before. Most girls can only ever dream about an opportunity like this! I wish I’d had these chances when I was your age.’ Mama put on her businesslike voice again. ‘Anyway, you can act the drama queen all you like but, you’ve got to do the commercial and there’s no getting out of it.’

  ‘Calm down, Mama, I’m doing it. I can’t wait,’ I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.

  ‘You may be able to fool Papa but there’s no need to be sarcastic. And how did you come up with those kicks at the shoot when you were forbidden to play over a year ago?’

  ‘Oh, Mama, I remember everything Nonno Dino taught me. I’ll never forget him and his football stories. We used to practise those kicks all day, every day. Really, it’s no big deal.’ I tried to sound cool.

  What I just said was almost true – I wasn’t really lying, I just left out a few minor details. But what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

  ‘Okay, Lucy, I’ll accept that answer for now, only because it works for the campaign and we’ve been through enough today. All I ask is that you perform at your best for the commercial. No more questions … for now!’

  What a relief!

  ‘Okay, Mama. I’ll do my best. But … are we going to film it in Australia?’

  ‘Well, I know you have to get back for your dance concert, and for school. I love the fact that you’re so committed to them, so we’re trying to work it out with Marcello and Enzo, as we want them both working on it.’

  ‘Oh thanks, Mama. And yes, the concert is very important. We’ve worked so hard to get it right, I’d hate to miss it. You’re the best.’

  Okay, so I told an even bigger fib. I couldn’t get out of that one. Luckily I’d scraped in a few dance classes so it shouldn’t be too difficult catching up when I returned. It’d be a doddle … wouldn’t it?

  From: bellabella@glamourmail.com

  To: lucyzeezou@footballmail.com

  Subject: Max missing

  Hi Lucy

  How’s Milan treating you?

  Good news. The boys have made it to the final of the Champion of Champions. Do you think you’ll be back in time? Coach James wants to know if you’ll be available. I think they’re getting worried!

  Sorry, it wasn’t me who told him you may still be away. Dylan snuck in and read the last email you sent me and blabbed. We had a big fight over it. He’s also upset because he thinks you don’t care about the competition, and he’s wondering who your Italian football friends are. Now I’m pretty sure that he has a crush on you. He’s also shocked about the news I’m about to share with you.

  I don’t know how to say this, but Max is in a lot of trouble and he could be in danger. No one can find him and now the police are looking for him.

  Apparently Max was caught up in a fight at Rushcutters Bay Park with a gang of boys. He managed to get out of there before the police arrived, but the awful thing is that he hit a guy (in self-defence, everyone says) who ended up in hospital. So someone reported him to the police for that, and now they’re looking for him. And to make matters worse, they’ve realised that he’s the same boy who ran away from his foster parents about a year ago. It’s been reported in the news – what a mess.

  They found Max’s backpack and football boots at the edge of a mooring near the yacht club. The worst thing is, they discovered blood along the wharf. He may be hurt.

  The police have put up missing signs all around the Cross and surrounding neighbourhoods. They’ve searched the whole area and have had divers in the harbour searching for clues. It’s all very scary and it’s weird seeing his photo out in public like that.

  Everyone’s really worried about him, including Harry. Now he feels bad about the fight they had and he feels even worse that he didn’t know that Max was homeless. He would have done more to help him. We’re all in shock and trying to help find him.

  I’m sorry that the news isn’t good but I had to tell you.

  Take care

  Luv

  Bella

  From: lucyzeezou@footballmail.com

  To: bellabella@glamourmail.com

  Subject: Oh no!

  OMG, Bella!

  I can’t believe it! How did all of this happen? Poor Max. I feel so useless being so far away. What if he’s badly hurt? It’s so awful thinking what might have happened to him, and the fact that he’s got no one to turn to.

  The time here is going quickly but not fast enough now that I know about Max’s situation. I just want to come back and help find him.

  Please tell Coach James that I’m going to make sure that I’m back for the final. I can’t wait to get onto the pitch … life’s much easier when you’re just chasing a ball.

  My parents have just agreed to film the commercial in Sydney, even though it’s probably going to cost them more money. But I really don’t care about anything like that at the moment, I’m more concerned about Max.

  Please call me as soon as you hear anything.

  I’m going to watch my papa play in the big local derby this Sunday. I’ve been looking forward to this game since we arrived. Papa said I can hang out with him after the game … At least that will help take my mind off Max for a bit. It’s something to look forward to.

  Oh and about Dylan. He’s my friend and that’s it. I’m not interested in anyone that way.

  Please contact me ASAP if you hear any more news about Max.

  Luv

  Lucy

  I couldn’t believe what was going on in my life. One minute everything was fine and the next it was all upside down.

  How could we find Max? Maybe I could ask Papa to hire a private investigator to find him or Bella could ask her mama; surely she’d have all the right connections. Someone had to know something.

  At least I’d be back in Sydney in time for the final. Everything was straightforward on the pitch. You worked with your team mates against the opposition. It was so simple. Why couldn’t life be like that?

  What was I going to do about Dylan? It was such an awkward situation. We were just friends and that was it. I’d just have to try and act cool around him. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but I just didn’t like anyone that way. At least, I didn’t think so …

  Mama and I were finally off to the derby. All morning I was jumping out of my skin to get there, worried that we wouldn’t arrive in time for kick-off, since Mama was fussing over her outfit. Papa was at his team’s base, Milanello, preparing for the game and would arrive at the San Siro with his team mates and AC Milan staff. Papa didn’t really get that nervous before a game, but he was superstitious. I wasn’t supposed to know it, but he wouldn’t walk onto that pitch unless he was wearing his lucky red undies!

  The derby was one of the biggest games on the world football calendar – a clash between two local rivals, AC Milan and Inter Milan. The city was buzzing with anticipation, and divided into a sea of AC Milan’s red and black colours and Inter’s blue and black. Everyone supported one of the clubs, or if not they’d at least have an opinion of the encounter. Even though the game was played on Sunday, most people would skip church and tune into the radio or TV to watch it if they couldn’t get tickets. And then the
y’d spend most of Monday conducting post mortems on the game. It was intoxicating, and I loved it!

  The match today was a particularly special one, because the clubs were promoting football against racism. It was a global campaign run by football’s governing body, aiming to encourage inclusiveness and stamp out racism. That was something I loved about football – it had the power to break social and racial barriers and raise awareness. Players came from all parts of the world and they were usually embraced by their team mates and supporters. Even my team in Sydney had players from eleven different backgrounds, out of a squad of sixteen. But there were still some narrow-minded fans who were prejudiced against a particular race or religion.

  I didn’t understand how people could not see the benefits of being part of a planet full of different cultures. It would be so boring if we were all the same.

  While the players fought for points on the pitch, another war was looming in the players’ box, where the footballers’ friends and family sat. Mama and the other wives and hangers on all tried to outdo each other in the latest fashions, sipping only the best champagne. It was nearly as competitive as the football, which they didn’t really care about – although they cheered on cue, vying to attract the cameras.

  The kids were okay … at least they showed more interest in the game, except for the other girls my age and a bit older who were far too girly for my liking.

  We settled ourselves in the box, and Mama turned to me. ‘Lucia, could you at least put on a little bit of lipstick? You look a little dishevelled, honey, and the cameras are bound to look for us at some point.’ She handed me a new hot-pink lipstick. I threw it in my pocket while she wasn’t looking.

  I decided to escape the irritating fashion scene for my own sanity, hoping to catch up with Papa and his team mates before kick-off, and then watch the match from the stands.

  ‘Mama, I’ll be back soon, I’m just going to catch up with an old friend I can see in the stands.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell her to come up? You don’t want to watch the game from down there.’ I swear I could see Mama’s nose turn up at the thought of me sitting with the rest of the fans. I rolled my eyes. Mama really did live on another planet. I wanted to watch the game with the real fans who understood football.

  ‘It’s okay, Mama … Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.’ I planted a kiss on both cheeks and was off.

  Another lie. Well, it was a small one.

  I ran down into the belly of the stadium towards the tunnel, which I could enter only because I had a special access-all-areas pass. I hoped I wasn’t too late to catch Papa before he ran onto the pitch. I loved seeing the players just before they headed out. You could really feel the tension and excitement before a big clash.

  While they waited in the tunnel, each player stood with a child, who they’d lead out onto the pitch. Being a mascot was something kids dreamt of. I used to run out with Papa when I was little, for special occasions like his hundredth game for the club and big final match days, but now I was too old for that.

  I caught Papa and his team a few moments before he was to lead them out. I said hello to the players. Some were wriggling out their nerves, while the older, more experienced players were chilled, like my papa. The opposition stood nearby, adding to the tension.

  I wrapped myself around Papa and whispered, ‘Good luck, Papa. Score a goal for me.’

  He answered with a tighter bear hug. ‘I’ll do my best, but you know my job is to defend. If I get a chance, I’ll crack the ball into the back of the net, especially for you. I’ll celebrate by blowing you a kiss.’

  It was true that he rarely scored goals, but I sensed that today would be different. He led the team out with a look of determination. I watched, dreaming that one day I’d lead my own team out into this arena.

  I stayed to watch the game from down there, within view of the bench and coach. He was yelling instructions from the sidelines as the players fought for the ball. I could smell the manicured grass and hear the clash of boots. There was nothing like being in the San Siro on derby day, surrounded by the roar of the crowd. They chanted their team songs and madly waved their flags. It was impossible not to be swept up in the excitement and passion of the die-hard fans.

  And seeing Papa play made my spine tingle. Straight from kick-off he was involved, directing and encouraging his players. He guarded the back line like his life depended on it, so it was extremely tough for the opposition to get past him. He read the play very early, which gave him an edge over his rivals. That’s why he was considered one of the best.

  The crowd went wild as AC Milan created the first shots on goal and Papa put himself in contention. Inter’s goalkeeper staved off the attempts and the ball was sent back to the halfway mark. But moments later, Inter managed to silence the rossoneri, AC Milan’s fans, with an unexpected opening goal that seemed to come from nowhere. The stadium was dominated by chants from the nerazzurri, Inter’s supporters, but not for long. Three minutes later, Kaká worked his magic from the halfway line and beat the keeper with a spectacular goal to level the match. The Inter fans fell silent as the air was saturated with AC Milan’s supporters in full voice and of course I joined in the celebrations.

  Soon it was close to half-time, and I thought I should go back and find Mama, in case she was worried.

  I started to head back up the stairs to the players’ box, still daydreaming about being a professional and playing in front of fanatical supporters. I was suddenly struck by the sound of heavy breathing behind me … before I could turn to see who it was, a hand squeezed over my mouth. I struggled to scream, but the grip was too tight. The next thing I knew, I was being carried away up flights of stairs.

  I tried to kick my way free but the person was too strong. I must have lost consciousness, because next thing I knew, I was waking to the sound of distant cheering. I didn’t know how long I’d been out. I opened my eyes to inspect my surroundings, and realised that there was tape over my mouth and my arms were tied behind my back.

  Oh no! My heart pounded heavily in my chest. What was going on? Was this some sort of sick joke? My thoughts raced and beads of sweat trickled down my face in the stifling, windowless room. I was being held hostage, somewhere in the stadium.

  Across the room I spotted a man and a woman dressed all in black, with dark wrap-around sunnies and peaked caps. They were deep in conversation, speaking in a foreign language.

  The sound of my backpack vibrating on the ground interrupted them. It was probably Mama ringing, wondering where I was. They stared at the backpack, panic-stricken. This was not part of their plan. The woman reached down and tipped everything out of the bag. To my surprise, she answered the phone.

  Her accomplice yelled something. I couldn’t understand the words, but judging by his expression and tone of voice, he was saying, ‘No, DON’T!’

  While they were distracted, I tried to struggle free, but it was no use – the tape, or whatever was binding my hands, was too tight. The man noticed my desperate efforts and launched towards me.

  ‘Don’t try anythink or you dead,’ he snarled in a heavy accent, standing over me like a big thug.

  Now I was really scared … terrified. I sat perfectly still and did my best to listen to the phone call. The woman’s English was so bad it was hard to understand her. She said ‘Lucia not come bark!’ into the phone and then switched it off.

  The man yelled at her frantically, his face consumed with anger. I wished I could tell what they were saying. She yelled back at him, gestured with her arms and pointed at me and the door.

  The man then lifted his shirt. To my horror, a gun rested on his hip. He looked like a hit man – those scary fit ones that you saw in Hollywood movies. I wished I was in a movie and not living this nightmare.

  How had he slipped past security with a gun?

  This was not a person to mess with. Someone had to help me … surely Mama would have called the police by now? I’d been missing for most of the game –
but then again, I told her I’d be with a friend. Maybe she thought I was hanging out with her until the game was over. My little lie had backfired – and it might be my last.

  I tried to pulled myself together, focusing on the sounds that filled the room. I could hear the fans cheering. Suddenly, the cheers mellowed and I could make out the match commentary in the background.

  That was it! I was being held next to the commentary box!

  ‘AC Milan and Inter have locked horns … this game is panning out to be yet another classic …’

  But the commentary was bluntly interrupted by the woman yelling instructions. ‘Look this way, Lucia. HEY! I say look this way or you be sorry.’

  I turned and saw that she was fiddling with a camera. I was frightened, hot and extremely angry, sitting on the concrete floor without any idea why I had been kidnapped. And now they wanted to take my photo, of all the weird things. Why?

  This was infuriating – I couldn’t even get away from the camera as a hostage. I reluctantly followed her orders and stared into the camera.

  She took the photo and made a quick exit, leaving me with the big scary man. I was shaking, and began to sob uncontrollably. He walked over to me. ‘Why you cry?’

  What kind of stupid question was that? Now I knew what I was dealing with. I struggled to speak through the tape and, unexpectedly, he ripped it off my mouth.

  ‘Ouch that hurt!’ And then I pleaded, ‘Please, let me go … please! I just want to be with my family. I want to go home.’

  He took off his cap and sunglasses and crouched next to me. I was surprised by how young he looked. But he dashed my hopes. ‘Impossible.’

  ‘Why can’t you let me go? Why have I been abducted?’ I asked, trying to control my tears.

  ‘You … held for ransom. Your father get letter to give us millions of US dollars, which must deliver by tomorrow afternoon … then you go.’ His accent was just as strong as the woman’s.

  ‘How could you do this? You seem too young to carry a gun and commit a serious crime. You’ll go to jail. How old are you?’ I queried, hoping to appeal to his soft side – if there was one. I thought if I managed to strike up a conversation and sound interested in him he might let me go.